


In sickness and in health, times three

by Tikini



Series: Four men and a Rock and Roll band [5]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Scrabble, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 09:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikini/pseuds/Tikini
Summary: John Deacon very rarely got sick, but when he did, he gotreallysick. Since he’d moved in with his three bandmates turned boyfriends he hadn’t been sick once. Until now.





	In sickness and in health, times three

**Author's Note:**

> Haha... So I was recently like, you won't see from me as much because now I'm more busy! But then I got the fucking flu. And one of my precious readers suggested a fic of Deaky being sick. So I was like... Well I guess it's destiny. Of course I gave poor John stomach flu instead of my regular one, just to be a bitch, but at least he's got more boyfriends than I do, so. In your face John. 
> 
> This little piece takes place after Four but before A study in Jealousy.
> 
> There's some vomiting in this so if that freaks you out, do not read. I also wrote this while being feverish so it might not be the best thing ever written. I still do hope you enjoy it. This is for you Ziahra!

John Deacon very rarely got sick, but when he did, he got _really_ sick. Since he’d moved in with his three bandmates turned boyfriends he hadn’t been sick once. Until now.

He started feeling it when they were in the studio, playing. A certain ache all over, a pounding headache and an overwhelming nausea. His stomach churned violently and he basically threw his bass to the side, storming out in the middle of the song they were playing, not even noticing the others confused calls after him. 

Luckily he was able to get to the bathroom and collapse in front of the toilet, before violently heaving and emptying his stomach content in the toilet bowl. He gagged and vomited, eyes tearing up at the terrible taste and the burning of his throat. When he finally got a short break, resting his forehead on the toilet seat and gasping for breath, he felt cool fingers running through his hair and over his scalp. Freddie’s voice was gentle as he rubbed John’s back with his other hand.

“Poor darling, that’s it, let it all out.” As if on command John vomited again, sobbing through the spurts of gastric acid coming up his raw throat. 

Freddie continued to hum softly, letting John get everything he could out until he was dry heaving pathetically into the bowl. “Bri,” he distantly heard Freddie say, “try to find a plastic bag or something. He needs to go home.”

“Can you stand up dear?” Freddie’s voice was back in his ear. “Rog’s getting the van, we’re going to take you home and put you to bed, alright?”

John whined in protest, he felt like he’d die if he moved from his slouch by the toilet. But Freddie hoisted him up and the next second there was a plastic bag shoved into his trembling hands, Brian’s concerned face appearing in front of him.

“God Deaky, you look like shit,” the guitarist winced, making John wish he had the energy to glare at him.

Somehow, with the support of Brian and Freddie and with the bag clasped securely in his hands, John managed to get out to the van and into the backseat. He spent the trip home in a horrendous daze, heaving into his bag and body fiercely protesting every movement of the car. He wasn’t even aware of how the other three managed to get him up the stairs and into the apartment.

He was stripped and put in his pajamas, someone tried to get him to drink a glass of water, which he bravely drank half off, before he was maneuvered into the far corner of their enormous bed. A second later he was out like a light.

John spent the next couple of hours in a state of delirium, sleeping fitfully and waking every other hour to vomit more gastric juices or dry heave into the bucket someone thoughtfully had placed beside the bed. His boyfriends appeared at his side as squiggly, blurry figures, offering him water, paracetamols and emptying his bucket like clockwork. 

It was first late in the evening that John woke, feeling a bit more alert and aware of his surroundings. He still felt a bit queasy, but not like he needed to vomit at the moment, and his fever must have gone down a bit. He gingerly managed to sit up against the headboard, cradling his tender head. Distantly he could hear noises from outside, faint clashing from the kitchen and his boyfriends voices.

He sat in the darkness for about five more minutes before there was a soft knock on the door. Before he could convince his aching throat to say anything, the door was opened and Freddie peaked inside. 

“Ah, you’re awake!” The singer’s voice was a bit too loud and cheery for John’s aching head and he grunted weakly in protest. “Do you think you can try and eat some for me dear? I’ve made chicken soup!”

Freddie didn’t wait for an answer before turning on the lights, and trudging into the room. He had a tray with a bowl of steaming soup and a glass of water on it, and he brushed some stuff off the bedside table to put down the tray, before sitting down on the side of the bed, next to John.

The soup smelled delicious but it still made John’s stomach turn slightly. “I’m sorry Fred but I’m not sure I can eat anything, I’m still feeling a bit sick…”

“Just try a bit hmm?” Freddie smiled, blew on a spoonful of the soup and held it up close to John’s mouth. “It’s my mother’s recipe and it’s very gentle on your stomach. You need to eat some to grow stronger dear.”

John was still sceptic, but it did smell good so he took the spoon from the older man and carefully sipped on the soup. 

It was very good. It was easy to forget that Freddie was the best cook amongst them, since he always forgot to do the shopping and often was too lazy or busy to actually cook, but when he did the food always was exquisite. The soup was just the right temperature, the right smoothness, neither too bland or too spicy and John found himself ignoring his queasiness to slowly eat the whole bowl of it.

“That’s my darling,” Freddie grinned at him, attempting to straighten John’s messy, sweaty hair out the best he could while John sluggishly finished the glass of water. The touch was soothing, and John found himself leaning into it, closing his eyes.

He was exhausted. Getting some warm food in his stomach was all it took to make his heavy eyelids droop. 

“Mm, you’re still a little hot but I think your fever’s gone down darling. A good night’s rest and you’ll be just fine, you’ll see.” Freddie pulled away from him and got up. John whined, immediately missing the contact.

The singer laughed warmly. “I’ll just go clean up dear, and Bri and Rog are on their way to bed too. We’ll be with you soon. Just sleep honey.” 

He was carefully pushed back down in bed, a pair of lips lightly brushed against his temple and then he was out again.

The next morning he wished he hadn’t eaten all of that amazing treacherous soup. John jolted awake, the sudden nausea making his head spin. He turned to get his head over the bucket but then realized with panic that he’d managed to snuggle all the way to the middle of the bed somehow. He clutched his hand over his mouth and tried to scramble back over to his bucket but it was too late. He gagged and vomit came spilling through his fingers onto his pajamas and on the bed. 

By the time he managed to reach his bucket there was barely anymore for him to throw up in it. He and half the bed was covered in his puke and it was sticky and it smelled and he was so ashamed. John burst into tears. He was half hanging of the side of the bed, sobbing and dry heaving into the cursed bucket and didn’t even notice he had company before strong hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up.

“Jesus christ John,” Roger’s eyes were so sad and it made John feel even worse. He had snot and tears and vomit all over himself and he didn’t want any of his boyfriends to see him like this, ever. So he only cried harder.

Roger hushed him, hands gentle on his shaking body. “It’s alright. You’re alright.” He gave the soiled bed the stink eye and propped John up against his side, ignoring John’s hiccuped protest about him getting dirty too. “Do you need to throw up more?”

John shook his head, he was feeling much better now. Except for the burning humiliation and shame he felt. “No.. God I’m so sorry Rog.”

“Hush. Shut up.” Roger rolled his eyes and pulled John off the bed. “It’s not like anyone wants shit like this to happen. Been there, done that baby.” He started leading John out from the bedroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up Deaks.”

They made their way to the bathroom and John stripped awkwardly when Roger told him to. It seemed like it was only him and the drummer at home at the moment. Which was a relief. It was humiliating enough for only Roger to see him like this.

“Can you bend over the tub?” Roger asked him as he fished up John’s stinking pajamas and put them in a plastic bag. 

John couldn’t not snort at that and weakly raised one eyebrow at the other. “Really, you get off on vomit?”

“Don’t be gross,” Roger scrunched his nose up and grabbed the shower hose as John bent over the bath. “I just want to get the worst out from your hair and off your face, before putting you in the bath.”

And he did. Roger quickly rinsed the worst mess from John, then urged him to brush his teeth and drink some water while he started drawing him a bath. “Alright love, you just sit back and relax yeah? I’ll be right back, just have to sort out the bedroom first.”

“You don’t have to,” John frowned, not liking the idea of Roger cleaning up his mess. “I can fix it.”

Roger just grinned at him, shook his head and walked out of the bathroom. So John had no choice but to sit down in the bath. It was lovely to feel the warm water all over his sweaty, chilled skin and he leant back against the tiled wall with a sigh. 

Barely five minutes later Roger was back again. John was impressed but not surprised. The drummer was quite efficient at cleaning and tidying up, and he’d had a lot of practice changing their sheets, since they got… dirty… quite a bit and Roger was the one most disgusted by it.

“Join me?” He made grabby hands at the blonde and gave him his best attempt at puppy eyes. 

Roger shrugged and smiled. “Don’t mind if I do.” He quickly shucked his own clothes off and climbed into the bath behind John when the bassist made room for him. He lathered up a loofah and made John sit forward a bit so he could wash his back.

“Where’s Bri and Fred?” John muffled a yawn in his hand and happily leant back against his boyfriend’s chest when Roger started working the loofah over his chest instead. 

“Studio.” Roger muttered, movement’s a bit on the rough side as he scrubbed the skin of John’s chest pink. “We decided one should stay home and look after you.”

John turned his head to nose into Roger’s neck. “And you got the short straw.”

“Actually, I got the long straw.” Roger beamed and wrapped his arms around John’s waist, resting his cheek on top of his head. “How are you feeling?”

“Lucky.”

Freddie and Brian returned home in the afternoon, bringing with them some of John’s favourite biscuits. John had been feeling much better after the bath, the fever was gone and he hadn’t been feeling too queasy. He’d even managed to eat a couple of toasts.

He’d stayed in bed after the bath, in changed linens, but Brian managed to lure him out to the living room with the promise of tea, biscuits and one of his favourite movies. Freddie went with Roger to get their things from the laundromat and John was left with his curly-haired boyfriend, curled up against his chest on the sofa as they watched A Clockwork Orange.

John knew that Brian was a bit grossed out by the movie but the guitarist bravely stayed with him through the whole thing. Freddie and Roger joined them after about halfway through it, squeezing up on the remaining part of the sofa with Freddie perched on the drummer’s lap.

After the movie, Freddie got up to order pizza and Roger stretched out in the corner, lazily watching the news. Brian told John about a new song he was working on, while gently running his fingers through the bassist's long hair. John had never felt so content while being sick, ever.

They ate their pizza in front of the television (John had one and a half slice of his and was quite proud), and then decided on a short round of scrabble. Well, Brian, Freddie and Roger decided on it. John was happy to just stay molded into Brian’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the vibration of his voice when he spoke.

Freddie and Roger chose to sit on the floor and were soon very engaged in the match. Brian was only absentmindedly competing, more interested in kissing John’s head and cuddling than actually playing, and soon fell far behind the others points. John was doing his best to keep his eyes opened, the only reason he hadn’t fallen asleep yet was Freddie’s and Roger’s loud voices as they argued.

Freddie several times attempted to put down names or made up words and it was turning Roger livid. Meanwhile the singer got more and more offended as no one believed him. The game ended when Roger smugly put down the word Mitosis and won. Freddie was quite pissed and promptly tackled the drummer to the floor when he wouldn’t stop bragging about it. John wasn’t the least bit surprised when their competitive wrestling soon turned to making out and pulling on each other’s clothes instead. Neither was Brian it seemed.

“Well, I think that’s it for tonight.” The guitarist yawned and got up from the sofa, John still in his arms. John wrapped arms and legs around the taller man and nodded sleepily.

“Good night Fred, Rog,” Brian poked them with his foot. “Try to keep it down will you? Deaky needs to rest.”

Roger pulled away from Freddie, lips already swollen, and sat up on top of the other man, smiling at Brian and John. “Night! Love you.”

“Sweet dreams lovelies,” Freddie drawled before expertly taking advantage of the distraction to roll them over, pressing his mouth to Roger’s giggling one.

John yawned again, already half asleep as Brian started carrying him to the bedroom. “Love you guys.”

Having three boyfriends really was the best.

The next day day John was swearing like a sailor, rushing between the bedroom to change a whining Brian’s bucket, the bathroom to comfort a sobbing Freddie hunched over the toilet and the living room, making sure that Roger wasn’t dead yet, the blonde passed out on the sofa from a ridiculously high fever.

Having three boyfriends really was the worst!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I know I never shut up about this, but I really do think that you're all fucking brilliant. Like the support-level in this fandom is through the roof. I love you guys so much <3 (sorry sick and emotional)
> 
> Take care and stay healthy lovelies


End file.
